I Bo The ]Sratu7'alist in La Plata, 
measure to the compassion I have always felt for 
them. Pity, ’tis said, is akin to love ; and who can 
help experiencing that tender emotion that considers 
the heavy affliction nature has laid on the spiders 
in compensation for the paltry drop of venom with 
which she, unasked, endowed them ! And here, of 
course, I am alluding to the wasps. These insects, 
with a refinement of cruelty, prefer not to kill their 
victims outright, but merely maim them, then house 
them in cells where the grubs can vivisect them at 
leisure. This is one of those revolting facts the 
fastidious soul cannot escape from in warm climates ; 
for in and out of open windows and doors, all day 
long, all the summer through, comes the busy 
beautiful mason-wasp. A long body, wonderfully 
slim at the waist, bright yellow legs and thorax, 
and a dark crimson abdomen, — what object can be 
prettier to look at ? But in her life this wasp is 
not beautiful. At home in summer they were the 
pests of my life, for nothing would serve to keep 
them out. One day, while we were seated at dinner, 
a clay nest, which a wasp had succeeded in complet- 
ing unobserved, detached itself from the ceiling and 
fell with a crash on to the table, where it was 
shattered to pieces, scattering a shower of green 
half-living spiders round it. I shall never forget 
the feeling of intense repugnance I experienced at 
the sight, coupled with detestation of the pretty 
but cruel little architect. There is, amongst our 
wasps, even a more accomplished spider-scourge 
than the mason- wasp, and I will here give a brief 
account of its habits. On the grassy pampas, dry 
bare spots of soil are resorted to by a class of 
